Tales and Novels, vol 10 | Page 6

talking."
"Talking! yes, yes!" said Mr. Collingwood, "I understand it all--Lady
Davenant is a great politician, and female politicians, with their heads
full of the affairs of Europe, cannot have time to think of the affairs of
their families."
"What is the matter, my dear Helen?" said Mrs. Collingwood, taking
her hand. Helen had tears in her eyes and looked unhappy.
"I have done very wrong," said she; "I have said something that has
given you a bad, a false opinion of one for whom I have the greatest
admiration and love--of Lady Davenant. I am excessively sorry; I have
done very wrong."
"Not the least, my dear child; you told us nothing but what everybody
knows--that she is a great politician; you told us no more."
"But I should have told you more, and what nobody knows better than I
do," cried Helen, "that Lady Davenant is a great deal more, and a great
deal better than a politician. I was too young to judge, you may think,
hut young as I was, I could see and feel, and children can and do often
see a great deal into character, and I assure you Lady Davenant's is a
sort of deep, high character, that you would admire."
Mrs. Collingwood observed with surprise, that Helen spoke of her with
even more enthusiasm than of her dear Lady Cecilia. "Yes, because she
is a person more likely to excite enthusiasm."
"You did not feel afraid of her, then?"

"I do not say that," replied Helen; "yet it was not fear exactly, it was
more a sort of awe, but still I liked it. It is so delightful to have
something to look up to. I love Lady Davenant all the better, even for
that awe I felt of her."
"And I like you all the better for everything you feel, think, and say
about your friends," cried Mrs. Collingwood; "but let us see what they
will do; when I see whether they can write, and what they write to you,
I will tell you more of my mind--if any letters come."
"If!--" Helen repeated, but would say no more--and there it rested, or at
least stopped. By common consent the subject was not recurred to for
several days. Every morning at post-time Helen's colour rose with
expectation, and then faded with disappointment; still, with the same
confiding look, she said, "I am sure it is not their fault."
"Time will show," said Mrs. Collingwood.
At length, one morning when she came down to breakfast, "Triumph,
my dear Helen!" cried Mrs. Collingwood, holding up two large letters,
all scribbled over with "Try this place and try that, mis-sent to
Cross-keys--Over moor, and heaven knows where--and--no matter."
Helen seized the packets and tore them open; one was from Paris,
written immediately after the news of Dean Stanley's death; it
contained two letters, one from Lady Davenant, the other from Lady
Cecilia--"written, only think!" cried she, "how kind!--the very day
before her marriage; signed 'Cecilia Davenant, for the last time,'--and
Lady Davenant, too--to think of me in all their happiness."
She opened the other letters, written since their arrival in England, she
read eagerly on,--then stopped, and her looks changed.
"Lady Davenant is not coming to Cecilhurst. Lord Davenant is to be
sent ambassador to Petersburgh, and Lady Davenant will go along with
him!--Oh! there is an end of everything, I shall never see her
again!--Stay--she is to be first with Lady Cecilia at Clarendon Park,
wherever that is, for some time--she does not know how long--she

hopes to see me there--oh! how kind, how delightful!" Helen put Lady
Davenant's letter proudly into Mrs. Collingwood's hand, and eagerly
opened Lady Cecilia's.
"So like herself! so like Cecilia," cried she. Mrs. Collingwood read and
acknowledged that nothing could be kinder, for here was an invitation,
not vague or general, but particular, and pressing as heart could wish or
heart could make it. "We shall be at Clarendon Park on Thursday, and
shall expect you, dearest Helen, on Monday, just time, the general says,
for an answer; so write and say where horses shall meet you," &c. &c.
"Upon my word, this is being in earnest, when it comes to horses
meeting," cried Mr. Collingwood. "Of course you will go directly?"
Helen was in great agitation.
"Write--write--my dear, directly," said Mrs. Collingwood, "for the
post-boy waits."
And before she had written many lines the Cross-post boy sent up word
that he could wait no longer.
Helen wrote she scarcely knew what, but in short an acceptance, signed,
sealed, delivered, and then she took breath. Off cantered the boy with
the letters bagged, and scarcely was he out of sight, when Helen saw
under the table the cover of the packet, in which were some lines that
had not